


bite me, bleed me, just don't leave me

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Elias Bouchard (mentioned) - Freeform, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Mild S&M, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Undernegotiated Kink, anonymous because I'm Shy, its trans tim, their canon dynamic but like wholesome, they're working out some shit don't worry about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Whatever Elias might say, Jon does not belong to him. And Tim's gonna give him the marks to prove it.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 257
Collections: Anonymous





	bite me, bleed me, just don't leave me

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in like two hours because jontim has possessed me body and soul

Tim barely gets the door shut before he slams Jon against it and goes for Jon’s neck, biting just a bit too roughly to be in any way tender. Jon wraps his hands around Tim’s waist, pulling him closer.

Tim takes a break from Jon’s skin for a moment to gasp out “bloody hell. The nerve of the bastard.”

Jon can only whine in response.

“‘My Archivist,’ he called you.” Tim’s fingers clutch at Jon’s wrists, pinning them to the door. “Like you’re his fuckin’ pet.”

“I had no idea,” Jon gasps, “possessiveness makes you so uncomfortable.”

Tim grins, wolfish and feral and not remotely happy.

“You’re not his.” He nips at Jon’s earlobe, and Jon squeaks. “God, you’re so pretty like this.”

“What, utterly debauched?”

Tim laughs. “Oh, you think _this_ is debauched?”

He lets go of Jon’s wrists, and for a moment Jon thinks maybe they’re going to have a tender moment until Tim quickly slots his hands under Jon’s thighs and lifts. Jon’s stomach swoops out from under him and he has to grab at Tim’s shoulders for support. He can’t resist digging his fingers in a little. Two can play at this game. Tim’s teeth go back to menacing Jon’s neck, sending delicious aches and pains over Jon’s skin. 

“That’s going to leave a mark,” Jon admonishes. 

Tim bites down almost hard enough to bleed, and Jon yelps. His fingers clutch and scrabble at Tim, at his strong shoulders and broad back, his fingernails scraping against Tim’s flannel that strains against his muscles. 

“If you’re going to be beastly,” Jon tells him, breathless, “don’t tease.”

By some miracle, Tim manages to keep biting at Jon’s neck and jaw while carrying him to the bedroom. By the time they get there, Jon is panting and clinging to Tim like a barnacle to a rock. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Jon asks.

Tim throws Jon roughly onto the bed. “I’m sick of it.” He slides a hand beneath Jon’s turtleneck, hot and calloused fingertips scraping over Jon’s stomach. His hand turns to grip Jon’s hip—Jon is small, yes, but it still makes his breath catch how Tim grabs his hip like he’s a toy, like he could break Jon in half. Like he might want to break Jon in half. His other hand grabs at the hem of Jon’s shirt and makes quick work of taking it off—with Jon’s help, of course.

Tim takes a moment to take Jon in with his eyes—Jon doesn’t know what it’s like to view a body and lust for it, but he knows that’s exactly what Tim’s doing. Tim looks at him not like a slab of meat, per se, but certainly something he’d have no problem devouring. 

“Beautiful,” Tim murmurs, splaying a hand over Jon’s chest, lingering on his jutting ribs. “Elias fucking _wishes_ ”

With that, he pounces. One moment Tim is poised over him, and the next Tim’s teeth are at his collarbone, and Jon cries out in surprise and pain and pleasure. Tim’s fingers grip Jon’s hips hard enough to bruise as Tim leaves bites across Jon’s shoulders. He doesn’t bother with foreplay or light nibbles. He just bites down almost enough to bleed, and Jon wishes he’d just pierce the skin already. 

“Tim, f-fuck!” Jon cries out. At least these marks will go under his shirt.

As if reading his mind, Tim’s mouth moves to Jon’s jaw. 

“What color do you wants your bites?” he whispers—a nonsensical question, but Jon knows what he’s asking.

“Green,” Jon manages to choke out.

Tim knots a hand in Jon’s hair, leaving his hips some relief, but Tim more than makes up for it with the punishing scrape of tooth against jaw. 

“I suppose the Circus isn’t going to want my skin after this,” Jon comments.

Tim’s fingernails dig into Jon’s skin, and the attention finally starts to make Jon’s cock prickle with need. He suspects that has nothing to do with Tim’s goals here. 

“I’m sick of people taking you,” Tim hisses, not bothering to pull his mouth away, so his stubble scrapes Jon’s cheek as he talks. “I’m not letting those damn clowns take anyone else, and I sure as hell am not letting Elias have you.” His hand in Jon’s hair clenches into a fist, pulling Jon’s head back and his neck into an arc. “You’re. Not. His.” 

His thumb digs into the dip where Jon’s hip meets his torso. Jon has a feeling this still does not meet Tim’s definition of “debauched,” even though his whole body is humming and he can already feel marks developing across his skin. Tim’s hand fumbles to take Jon’s pants off, and Jon moves to help, but Tim swats his hand away. 

“Tim,” Jon pleads. He arches his back, pressing his crotch into Tim’s hand. “Please.”

Tim roughly shoves his hips back into the bed and finishes unbuttoning Jon’s slacks. He abruptly pulls back.

“Finish undressing,” he orders. “I’m going to get ready.”

Jon quickly shimmies out of his trousers and pants, not bothering with sensuality as Tim’s back is turned. His shoulders hurt as he reaches down to pull off his socks. He’s going to be totally useless by the time Tim is done with him.

Jon was never one for masochism until Tim. He didn’t think he could be into pain until after the first time Tim kissed his bite marks and called his bruises beautiful. Then he couldn’t get enough of it.

Tim glances over his shoulder, his eyes hungry. He quickly looks away from Jon like a Catholic looking away from a turkey during Lent. He doesn’t seem to be undressing. 

“On your stomach,” Tim directs, and Jon obeys, waiting, trembling, bare skin exposed to the slightly-too-cold air. It seems like an eternity before Tim’s hand cups Jon’s ass, and Jon can’t help but tilt into the touch.

“I was going to blindfold you,” Tim says casually, “but I think you can be trusted to keep your eyes closed, can’t you?”

The word “trust” sends shivers down Jon’s spine, and he closes his eyes. Used to be, Tim always insisted on having him blindfolded. 

“If Elias watches this,” Tim says, “I want it to be through my eyes.”

Jon hears the cap of a lube bottle be popped open. 

“Which one are you using this time?” Jon asks. “I’m partial to the blue double-ended one, myself.”

Tim delivers a hard pinch to the sparse meat of Jon’s ass, and he squeaks in surprise. 

“Nah, that one’s too easy for you.”

Jon’s fingers curl into the sheets with anticipation.

“I’m sure I could psychoanalyze everything you’re saying,” Jon comments, “had I the time or inclination.”

“Freud was a little bitch, and if you can form coherent thoughts on psychology by the end of this, I’m doing something wrong.”

Tim slides a finger into Jon casually, as though testing the temperature of bathwater. Jon gasps and whines, clenching his eyes shut tighter.

“You’re so beautiful,” Tim murmurs. “So good. God, one finger is all it takes to take you apart.”

“I can take far more than this and you know that,” Jon snaps. 

Tim crooks his finger, and Jon bites back a rather undignified noise. 

“I like your mouth far better when it’s screaming my name than yelling it,” Tim comments. “You do know how to make a bad workplace environment.”

“If we’re talking about a bad workplace environment,” Jon pants, “let’s talk about how you’re fingering your boss.”

Tim slides another finger in, and Jon’s whole body lights up. The warmth pooling in his belly is nigh unbearable. 

“Besides,” Jon wheezing, “I—fuck!”

“What was that?” Tim says innocently.

“I—we can’t have this conversation while you’re…” Jon keens and squirms on the bed. “I can talk with two fingers, but not three!”

“Hm. Maybe it’s multiples of two?”

“Tim, please, I—“ Jon cuts off with a choked scream as Tim slides in a fourth finger. He feels perforated, stretched out, burning with pain and arousal.

“You sure can take a lot, for such a small man.”

“It’s because I’m a whore, Tim,” Jon keens through gritted teeth, “now will you get on with it?”

Jon can practically hear Tim’s smirk.

“Beg for it.”

“I’ve asked nicely multiple times,” Jon moans.

“Mmmm, you’re right. But I need you to say it once more.”

It doesn’t have the tone of dirty talk. When Tim says “need,” he means it.

“Please,” Jon whispers. “Please, I need you to fuck me.”

When Jon says “need,” he means it. He’s never been one to need sex—he’d be just as happy going without it for the rest of his life as he would getting railed twice a day. But he trusts Tim in bed, and Tim trusts him in bed, and even if they can’t, won’t, shouldn’t forgive each other in a dusty basement of an old fear god they can forgive each other here. Because he needs to belong to someone, to matter to someone, to at least have someone who’d give a shit if he disappeared again. 

Because Tim’s going to forgive him one day, and that day gets closer with every time Tim pants Jon’s name like a confession. 

“If you insist,” Tim says.

The tip of Tim’s strap-on cock rubs enticingly, maddeningly, against Jon’s entrance. Tim grips Jon’s ass with the strong, almost cruel fingers of one hand. He slides in, and he must be using the red one, because even after being fucked open with four fingers the first inch stretches and burns agonizingly through Jon. He feels like he’s being impaled. The stretch hurts, yes, but it’s absolutely exquisite. Tim keeps pushing in, inch by inch, until he’s bottomed out inside Jon. He stays there, still for a moment. One of his hands grabs Jon’s wrists and holds them down to the sheets, and Jon doesn’t even move. He just buries his face in his pillow and bites down on the fabric in preparation. 

“How are you doing?” Tim asks.

“Green.”

Tim’s hips snap back, pulling out half the cock and leaving Jon breathless, and then he shoves back into Jon with a smack of skin against fabric. Jon cries out helplessly as Tim sets a punishing pace, pounding into Jon and sending lances of pleasure up Jon’s spine. His fingers curl around Jon’s wrists, gripping them so tightly Jon’s fingertips start to tingle. His other palm digs into the base of Jon’s back as Tim puts his entire weight onto his hands. Jon’s toes curl and his fingers reach ineffectually at the sheets. The uncaring cock keeps hammering into him.

“Tim,” Jon cries, “Tim, Tim, Tim, fuck!”

“You’re chatty.” Tim’s fingertips dig into Jon’s skin and keep moving, exploring Jon’s body in a manner so punishing that it qualifies as a deep tissue massage, which Jon undoubtedly needs. Even his sharp hip bones are slamming into Jon hard enough to leave marks. 

Jon bites down on his lip, hard, and tears start to well in his eyes. With each thrust, his cock is pressed into the mattress, and he’s not sure how much more he can take. 

“This is almost as much as you can take, huh?” Tim remarks, and it sounds like callous teasing, but Jon knows it isn’t. There’s no one else he would trust to take him this close to the edge of his boundaries. 

Tim dips down until his chest is flush with Jon’s back, and Jon is so sensitive at this point that he whimpers at the scrape of Tim’s shirt buttons. Tim bites his way up Jon’s back, to leaving marks on the back of his neck, then finally tearing at Jon’s ear. He yelps in pain.

“I’ve got you,” Tim murmurs.

“I’ve got you,” Jon breathily repeats. 

One of Tim’s hands reaches down between Jon’s legs, and with the combination of Tim’s punishing thrusts and his teeth at Jon’s earlobe all it takes is a few strokes before Jon screams Tim’s name and shudders into dissolution. Tim slides out of Jon’s loose, unresisting ass, and Jon goes limp on the bed. 

“Tim,” Jon whimpers. 

Tim’s comforting weight settles down next to Jon, and Jon immediately turns into Tim’s warm chest. 

“You can open your eyes,” Tim tells him, but Jon is too tired to do so. He just leans his head against Tim’s collarbone. 

“Don’t know how I’m going to show up to work tomorrow,” Jon mumbles. 

Tim kisses the top of Jon’s hair, and it’s barely a brush of lips but it means the world.

“You better be there,” Tim says. “No way I’m facing down Elias alone.”

Jon kisses Tim’s neck, enjoying the sigh it elicits.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave you without your Archivist.”


End file.
